


I'll Crawl Home to Her

by SecretEspionage



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Just a Mention, Love Confessions, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Self-Doubt, no actual rape, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6290512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretEspionage/pseuds/SecretEspionage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You knew what Brock did was dangerous, you just never thought you'd have to pay for it. Brock/Reader, Steve/Reader</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Crawl Home to Her

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I've been gone so long, school's been very very hectic. This is officially the longest thing I've ever written but it's so short compared to some of the other things on here. Thank you to everyone who takes time out of their day to read this!
> 
> Edit 02/13/17: So sorry for my inactivity! School and life have really caught up with me and there's no room for me in between all that. Sad to say that, because of this, this will remain a one shot story. Maybe once everything settles down I will consider adding more, but for now this is it. Thank you to everyone who reads and comments on my works and I'm sorry if I'm letting anyone down. I will try to write more when I can!

You always got emotional before he left on missions. A sense of fear, of dread, of feeling like you were the only person in the world washed over you when he left. In the beginning, you both used to argue about him staying. You’d beg and you’d cry, but every morning after your senseless fighting, you’d wake to an empty bed and a raw feeling of utter despair that sank all the way to your bones. Eventually, you gave up on asking him to stay, the answer was always the same: _“Babe, this is my job. You know I can’t stay, but I’ll come home to you, I promise.”_ His promise was little more than a white lie said in a futile attempt to calm you down, but his intentions were good. You had to be good back, to support him even if it hurt. So you keep quiet with your pain, you stopped begging and you stopped crying (at least to his face). But in turn you avoided speaking to him all together. It was easier to ignore him than letting your pleas turn to ash before they reached his ears.

Regardless of your methods, a wave of anxiety would wash over you every time he came home and told you he couldn’t be here for the next overly large number of days. You trusted him to stay safe, to watch his own back, to come home, but you also loved him more than anything, so hearing him say he’s leaving always sounded like the was reciting his own death sentence.

You knew Brock couldn’t tell you everything about his job. He said the less you knew, the safer you were, and you believed him without question. You had no reason not to. More than once, he has come home to you, gripping his side in an attempt to not bleed out on the floor. He knew how fussy you were about your floors, but despite his hand putting pressure on his wound, blood still fell from his body onto the tile because his gear was too soaked to hold anymore. He’d be so injured he could barely stand on his own two feet and leaned against the wall for support. He wobbled with every step he’d take and it looked like he’d topple over and never get back up. You had cried the first time he came home like that. Your choked sob made him look up and show his beaten face and your heart had dropped. Blood dripped from a wound on his head down over his left eye, which was bruised and swollen shut. Despite looking like he was about to take his last breath, he gave you a lopsided smile and a winded “Honey, I’m home.”

You never wanted to see him like that ever again. A numbness would set in when he was called away on another classified mission he couldn’t share, for your own safety of course. Sometimes you wished that too was a white lie. This twisted ugly part of you wished that you dealt with normal problems, like him having an affair. At least then your anger would be justified. At least then he wouldn’t come home to your arms half dead.

Thankfully, most times he only came back to you with a few bruises and cuts and a complaint about the weather he had experienced. Those were preferable scenarios, but you could never get the sight of him about to bleed out in your home out of your head. It was scarred into your memory and cursed you to think of the worst cases possible while he was gone. Missing in action, having a limb blown off, captured, tortured, raped, _killed_. You were always more than thankful he came back to you and dispelled these thoughts from your mind, but you wished he never had to leave your side in the first place. You knew it was childish but you couldn’t help it, you loved him.

-

Brock Rumlow was normally a pretty relaxed guy, but when you acted like this – like someone who actually cared – it made him angry for all the wrong reasons. He was irritated if he was going to be honest with himself. He says your attitude annoyed him in reluctance of admitting what was really causing him all this unneeded stress. The truth was that he was angry _because_ you would miss him. No one ever missed him before and no one should have to miss a mercenary. It was a stupid thing to get upset over, he wasn’t some pubescent teen having a petty argument with his girlfriend of two weeks, but it honestly made him so pissed off.

He took a drag of his cigarette and ran his hand through his hair, trying to relax. He wasn’t angry with you, not really, he was angry with himself. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, it was supposed to be a one night thing that he never had to look back on. But he made a mistake and let you stay the night, and what a mistake it was. He huffed, tapping the butt of his cigarette off into the ash tray. Once again, he ran his hand through his hair, a habit developed out of stress, and leaned his head back against the wall. He let the sound of passing cars distract him for a moment before closing his eyes. He doesn’t have to think hard to recall the morning after he took you. 

-

_He woke up naturally, his internal clock never resting, and found you asleep beside him. You laid flat on your stomach and faced him while you slept. Your arms on either side of your head, one over the pillow and one under, caging you in. Your hair, wild from sex and sleep, tumbled over your shoulders and the pillows, strands shining gold from the sunlight peeking in through the blinds. Your lipstick had rubbed off ages ago, but your lips still were pink, from the residue and from how hard he kissed you. You looked peaceful, beautiful. Like a painting, and he’s still mad at himself for making such a sappy comparison. You were in the bed of a murderer and you were sleeping like you were safe._

_Unconsciously, he dragged two fingers over the corner of his mouth. You had kissed him softly while he was rough with you. While his hands left marks and bruises, yours glided gently over the planes of his muscles. He demanded you say you were his and you admitted it with a kiss each time._

_His fingers came away with the tips colored red. You had left a crimson stain everywhere you lightly pressed your lips against him last night. He wiped your lipstick away on his bare chest only to find a few more kiss marks there. He needed a shower, he decided after letting his eyes take in your form after a moment too long. He shifted to sit up and made to wake you up but the movement had already gotten you to stir and he pulled his hand away before he was able to touch your skin. You made soft sound of protest as you were woken from your sleep that was so innocent and free of double motives. It wasn’t a moan masked as a sigh, you weren’t trying to coax him into yet another round. You were woken from a comfortable, peaceful sleep in his bed, and you’d rather have stayed that way.  
You scrunched your face once you realized you couldn’t trick yourself into being asleep and left out an annoyed little huff as you rolled into your pillow and stilled for few moments. He watched you somewhat curiously, not making an attempt to interrupt your wakening ritual. With a sigh, you finally lifted your head up and stared at the headboard. You just looked blankly ahead, your mind in a daze and your eyes blinking slowly. After a few moments, you rolled your head to the side, locking eyes with him, and for a moment everything was silent. He peered at you with his lips slightly parted, but was comfortable in the silence under your tired gaze. A small smile surfaced slowly on your lips and with your sleep laced voice you greeted him. _

_“Hi.”_

_He found himself smiling back easily and returned your greeting._

_“Hey.”_

That was two years ago. He wasn’t sure how you did it, but you had gotten yourself to matter to him. Caring was dangerous in his line of work, for him and for you. But there was just _something_ about waking up to the warmth of someone else, to not hate your own kind completely. He couldn’t let you go now that you were under his skin, he wouldn’t. He love – no , he wouldn’t say it. Admitting it would be more fatal than a gun pointed at his head or even worse, a gun pointed at your head. 

He made an annoyed sound and put his cigarette out in the tray. The sun was setting and he had a long day ahead of him tomorrow. He stood and quickly went inside, locking the door behind him.

From the doorway he could see your back turned to him in the kitchen. You were washing dishes, anything to distract yourself and keep you from having to confront him. Rumlow settled himself on the couch. He was as unwilling to talk as you were. He sighed, running his hands over the stubble growing on his cheeks. He shouldn’t have to deal with this, your feelings should mean nothing, but here he was, coming up with the best strategy to address the situation without getting into another argument. Loving — no, caring about someone was foreign to him, so he approached it the same way he approached every problem, carefully and calculated. He ran through every situation and all their outcomes in his mind, trying to find the best way to spare your feelings. You were too soft hearted for his line of work.

A soft cough in front of him pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up and found you standing timidly before him, staring at your feet. Rumlow, for all his training, somehow let you slip past his guard. He should have heard you coming, but here you were, playing with the hem of your shirt and avoiding his gaze. When did you become so important that he no longer felt the need to be guarded around you? He gazed up at you, watching your face as you waged war with yourself inside your head. _Poor thing,_ Rumlow thought to himself, _no idea how to fight a battle._ He took mercy on you and decided to break the silence.

“Listen, baby girl-”

“I’m sorry.” You interrupted quickly, like your words would die on your lips if you left them unspoken. Your gaze was still turned down but you had gripped the bottom of your shirt for support to continue on. He raised an eyebrow at your sudden outburst. You never apologized. He never apologized. You both would duke it out and not speak to each other until the tension had either faded either or you fucked it away and you could carry on with your lives together. He settled back, not taking his eyes off you, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh, what brought this on?” He said, amusement lacing his voice as his lips curved up into a smirk.

“Don’t.” You said, letting go of your shirt and finally locking eyes with him. “Just. Don’t.” His smile dropped and he continued to stare at you, silently allowing you to go on.

“I just… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” 

“Everything.” You breathed out, a pained smile replacing your features. You turned your gaze down to the side. “I’m sorry for everything. For being me. For understanding that you can’t tell me about your job and for understanding nothing at all. For always starting these pointless arguments, for…” You trailed off, stopping yourself by putting your hands over your face. You were quickly getting worked up and paused to will the tears away. You would not cry, not this time.

“For loving me.” Rumlow finished, finally letting his gaze fall from you. A disgusted and bitter smile appeared on his face and he let out an annoyed sigh. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He shouldn’t have cared. His words broke your heart and made your breath pause in your throat

“No!” Your voice was louder and more desperate than you had planned but Brock had never shared his feelings and fears with you like this before. This whole time, did he really think you didn’t love him? After everything? Your sudden outburst caused his attention to focus back on you. Your eyes were puffy and red, right on the verge of tears, but still held absolute seriousness. “No, Brock. Not for loving you. Never for loving you. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

There is was again, that stupid word. He clicked his tongue and turned away from you, slightly annoyed all of a sudden. He wished you agreed with him, telling him yes, loving you was a mistake, and moved on, but something deep inside of him was grateful you didn’t. Something inside him was relieved to say _yes, you are mine, thank god, I am yours._ When you didn’t go on, he looked back at you and his heart almost broke. You stood before him, hand over your mouth and tears streaming down your face. Everything from the way you held yourself to the look of utter devastation in your eyes screamed how hurt you were.

“I….” You stuttered out, composure out the window. Your will to save face was gone after his actions. “I… Did… Did you know that? D-do you not… feel the same?” He knew you wanted to ask _‘do you not love me back’_ but stopped yourself, unable to bare the answer that you knew he was gonna give. That you _thought_ he was gonna give.

“Baby,” he leaned forward, reaching for your hands but you jumped away from his touch.

“No, stop!” You begged, crying harder. “You always call me "baby” right before you lie to me.” You were right. Rumlow never even noticed until you said it. When had he become such an open book to you?

"Sweetheart.” He tried again. “[Y/N], look at me.” He reached his hands towards you, hesitating slightly before taking your trembling ones gently into his own. You kept your head down, so he moved forward until he was in your line of sight. “I love you. It’s not easy for me to say, but I do.” He gave you a moment, but you stayed silent. Brock had never told you he loved you before and he never implied it. Your eyes widen at his confession, but you kept your head down, still reeling from shock.

Eventually, you pulled your hands from his and turned away from him and it was like he got shot in the chest. He didn’t want to force you, he couldn’t bring himself to, so he settled back against the couch, disappointed in everything including himself. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his heart off and shut his eyes, waiting to hear your footsteps walk away and the front door close.

But it never came. Instead, he heard hesitant steps come closer towards him. He opened his eyes and saw you before him. You had stopped crying and wiped away the previous tears, but you still appeared timid. Slowly, you reached out towards him with shaking hands. You uncrossed his hands from over his chest, lacing your fingers with his as you straddled him, sitting heavy on his lap like you were trying to keep him there with you. When you settled against his chest, he wrapped both arms around you, squeezing you to him. Your hands trailed up his sides and rested on his chest on either side of where your face was buried against him. You started tracing lazy circles with your thumbs and after a few moments, you raised your head and pressed a feather light kiss to his collarbone.

“Thank you,” you said lowly between the kisses you started to trail up his neck. His breath hitched in his throat and impulsively gripped you tighter in his arms.

“Baby girl…” he trailed off, completely at your mercy as you placed a gentle kiss behind his ear. You moved, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your forehead to his. He stared into your eyes, trailing his hands slowly along your back. After a few moments, you tilted your head slightly and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips which he returned tenderly. He moved his hand to your hair, running his fingers through it and stopping at the base of your neck, clasping it roughly and pressing you closer. He deepened the kiss and you moaned into it as he gripped your hip tighter in his hand. You pulled yourself away slightly, rubbing his chest as you gazed into his eyes.

“You need to go to bed.” You stated lowly, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “You have a long day tomorrow.” He returned your kiss as a reply and slipped his hands under your thighs as he hoisted you up with him as he stood. Your arms and legs immediately wrapped around him and delighted squeal escaped your lips that made him smile. You spent the entire walk to your bedroom holding his face and pressing your lips anywhere you could on his skin, making him far more eager to get to your shared bedroom.

Once inside, he laid you down gently on your bed, never breaking contact, and climbing over you to trap you beneath him. He took your face in his hand, it was a firm but not a rough hold. His fingers pressed into one side of your cheek and his thumb pressed to the other. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a full and possessive kiss, shifting slightly between your legs.

“No.” You whispered against his lips. He immediately let go of your face and pushed himself up slightly above you, hovering but not touching. You reached up, placing your hands on either side of his face, and stroked his cheeks. “Not tonight. I just want to hold you tonight.” He nodded, turning his head slightly to kiss your palm. He moved off you, letting you settle into the bed and lay your head down on the pillows. Once comfortable, he climbed back over you, leaning down for a single kiss and then laying his head down on your chest. He could hear your heartbeat, it was relaxed, you felt happy and safe and so he allowed himself to feel the same.

Gently, you placed both hands on his back and rubbed your thumbs in slow circles. You kissed the top of his head, letting your lips linger for a bit before pulling away and resting your head back on the pillow. A few moments were spent in a comfortable silence before you started to rub both of your hands on his back in short strokes. 

“You’ll come back, right?” It was a plea more than a question whispered lowly into the darkness of the room.

“Do you really have such little faith in my abilities?” He joked, voice laced with amusement to help lighten the mood.

“Brock.” You warned, and his smile faced. He pushed himself up and leaned over you, staring back into your eyes.

“Of course I will.” 

“Good.” You said, mostly to yourself in reassurance, and nodded a few times. “Good.” 

“Careful, I might start to think you actually care about me.” He quipped, making that smile he loved so much appear on your lips. You slapped his chest playfully in return which made him chuckle.

“Of course I do. God, if you get hurt, I’m gonna go to Nick Fury himself and personally give him hell.” He smiled at your words.

“I’d pay to see that.”

“Come back to me and you can.” His smile changed from one of amusement to one full of love and happiness. He slowly leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for a chaste kiss and let his lips linger against yours.

“Sweetheart, I’ll always come back for you.”

-

Two years had passed since the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and in turn, the fall of HYDRA, at least officially. You could recall the events like it was yesterday, the wound was still fresh in your mind, in your heart. That’s how you met Steve Rogers. HYDRA took your first love, your sense of safety, your ability to trust another human being, but it gave you Steve. HYDRA had taken from him too, so you both could understand each other’s pain and anger and found peace within each other.

It had been rough on you, hearing Captain America’s voice on the intercom, “The S.T.R.I.K.E. and Insight crew are HYDRA.” Seven words had brought your whole world crashing down along with the Triskelion around you. You never found out if Brock survived, part of you hoped he didn’t. Part of you hoped someone shot him in the head or that the building had crushed him like the roach he was as it crumbled like your heart. Part of you, the traitorous side that still loved him, hoped he had made it out in time and that he was okay, that he was alive. You bounced both versions of his fate around in your head at night. You needed him dead and out of your life but you needed him alive in hopes of seeing him again for closure. You needed him put down like the mad dog he was but you needed to know if anything between you was real. The warring in your mind would continue all night, running through every possible scenario you could think of. You thought of what you’d say to him if you ever saw him again, you thought of what you’d do if someone had told you he had died. The constant tug of war of “I hope you died” and “please, be safe” ravaged on your mind all night until two strong arms pulled you into a tight embrace. It was like you could breathe again when he touched you and you let out a shaky sigh. The scenarios in your head were just that, but this, in his arms, in your shared bed, this was real. His voice would come in your ear, low and sweet, “Go to sleep, baby.” 

You’d let out a sharp, airy chuckle that was more relief than amusement. You bit back your tears and gripped him where your hands could touch his skin. You’d pull him back close like it was another thing that HYDRA would take away from you. “Is that an order, Captain?” 

He’d lift his head and press a gentle kiss to your lips, almost like a certain HYDRA agent use to do, but this time you were sure it was real. “No, it’s a request from the man who loves you.”

Steve Rogers was your angel and your rock. Some days you watched him around your home completely at peace thinking to yourself, if you had to go through all that trauma again just to meet him, you’d do it in a heartbeat. In his love, you found a sense of safety and trust once again. He’d lock eyes and smile at you softy and you would remember what it felt like not to fear your own kind. 

“I owe you.” You use to whisper in the darkness of your room in the early morning of the night when you thought he was asleep. Every time, he’d press his lips to yours in a soft kiss, a promise, and whisper back, “No, you don’t.”

“You saved me, I owe you.” He was always able to wedge himself between your mind and your demons and made you feel safe again. You owed him more than he could ever understand, more than you could repay.

“You saved me. I owe you.” Steve would repeat back to you.

“You don’t owe me.”

“Why not? You saved me. You helped me.”

"I love you, you don’t owe me anything.” He’d smile, not only at your confession but how he would get you to realize that love was a two way street. He wouldn’t let you disprove your own feelings just because the last man you loved screwed you over. They were the same feelings he had. You saved him just as much as he saved you. 

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to you. It was harder, deeper than the first one, and he’d repeat your words against your lips, “I love you, you don’t owe me anything.”

Captain America was probably one of the most targeted men in the world and he managed to make you feel completely safe. On the streets, you could walk leisurely with your hand clasped in his and feel like it was going to be this way for the rest of your lives. It felt like it was too good to be true. 

It was too good to be true.

Your entire being hurt and there was a deafening ringing in your ears. Your body and eyelids felt heavy and if it wasn’t for the fact that the ringing had gotten louder, you would have fallen asleep right there. It took a lot of effort to finally get your eyes open, but you managed. You blinked twice trying to focus your gaze on anything but there was a heavy dust settling over everything. 

“What happened?” You asked yourself, barely above a whisper as you attempted to sit up. A sharp pain in your stomach made you jolt and stop any attempts at moving. You immediately put your hand above your navel and found it was wet. Slowly, you pulled your hand away and found the entirety of your palm covered in blood. Whether it was confusion or adrenaline, you did not scream though your breathing got heavier. Instead, you looked around as the dust cleared. Buildings had collapsed and people were unconscious or dead on the ground. You had to get out of here, to safety. Despite your fatigue and pain, you got up and took a few deep breaths to steady yourself and then remembered.

“Steve…” His name slowly fell from your lips like honey and then kicked you into action. Ignoring the sharp pain as you panicked, you rose up on to your feet and began stumbling forward. You remembered. He was with you, he held your hand in his. You were safe, you were supposed to be safe at his side. You faltered for a minute and glanced to the side. The café, the one you had just left from, it was gone. There was nothing but a smoking hole in the ground where you were previously. Fear rose up in your chest and choked out a sob from your throat but you moved forward nonetheless.

“Steve!” You called louder, your voice hoarse. Despite the blood dripping from your stomach and the people around you running in the opposite direction, you continued forward. You had to find him, he had to be okay. Your panic made you go faster but your body couldn’t keep up with your wishes. You tripped on your own feet and stumbled forward, finally dropping to your knees. Your breathing was labored like you had just ran, but you had barely managed twenty feet. The pain in your abdominal grew to become unbearable. You called out for Steve once more but his name died on your lips. You leaned forward, steadying yourself on your hands as you tried to take air into your lungs. _Please, please, Steve be alive._ You felt tears prick at your eyes at the thought of losing him, of losing your whole world…

Two boots came down heavy in front of you, making you flinch and jump back. The quick movement caused more excruciating pain to shoot through your body like fire and you whimpered. You glanced up at the person in front of you, a man due to his size and build. He wore armor over his arms and chest, all black except for the large white X that ran from each shoulder to the opposite hip. A black mask covered his face but had a white skull painted over it. Fear rose up in your chest and you skittered back away from him, too weak to get up from the ground. He took a few slow steps towards you, causing you to try and move faster but to no avail. 

Suddenly, your back collided roughly with the side of a car and you let out a yelp equally from the collision and the surprise. The man was approaching too quickly for you to get up and run and you had no weapon on you. Your breathing was heavy and panicked, taking in short deep breaths as he reached up to unfasten the helmet from his head. He removed it in a quick motion and let it fall from his hand on the ground besides him. 

A sense of fear, of dread, of feeling like you were the only person in the world washed over you when his face was unmasked. Despite the many scars burned into his skin, you knew it was him. It was a face you used to love and you knew immediately he was the cause of this disaster. When he was but a step in front of you, he squatted down to be at your eye level and you pressed further against the car, putting as much space between your bodies as you could. His eyes softened as he gave you a small smile like he was ignoring the cornered animal-like fear in your eyes. He reached out slowly and you flinched, shutting your eyes and turned away from his hand. Regardless, he did not falter and touched your cheek gently with his knuckles, rubbing it softly as a comfort. The action seemed to surprise you as you slowly opened your eyes and turned back to face him, confusion reading easily off your features. He took your face in his hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, smile ever present on his face. He was eerily calm despite the gunshots and explosions going off behind him. It like he was comfortable in the madness.

“Heya, sweetheart.” Rumlow said oddly casually, causing a shiver to run through your body. Someone screamed as they were gunned down behind him and you watched it play out just over his shoulder. He took your face more firmly in his hand, placing his thumb and fingers on the other side of your mouth and squeezed your cheeks together slightly. He turned your head, forcing you to look back at him. His smile was tight and forced and you couldn’t read what was in his eyes anymore. “I told you I’d always come back for you.”


End file.
